


Home Base

by trufflemores



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: 2.01, Father Figures, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, The Man Who Saved Central City, reaction fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-26
Updated: 2017-02-26
Packaged: 2018-09-27 01:32:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9944417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trufflemores/pseuds/trufflemores
Summary: Post-singularity, Singh finds an exhausted Flash at CCPD and encourages Barry to take a break.





	

Captain Singh says, "Flash."

On tired knees, Barry turns to regard him. After four weeks, the singularity flurry has died down and CCPD is almost empty at this hour. In the main lobby, it is, but for the super standing in front of the bronze mural and the head of the department across the room. " _Captain_ ," he replies. " _Is there something I can help you with?_ "

"There is." Captain Singh takes a step forward. Barry tenses automatically, muscles bunching, ready to bolt. When he doesn't, Singh proceeds. "As captain, it's my job make sure every officer, intern, and citizen has an opportunity to rest." He stops less than three feet from Barry. Exhaustion cripples Barry's ability to blur his own face, so he ducks his head to break the stare before it can become revelatory. Singh speaks, low and soothing. "Central City is indebted to your service. Taking a night off won't hurt your reputation."

Guilt strangles in his throat, and he is too tired, or too frustrated, or too naïve to stop it. " _I caused the singularity._ "

Barry can just see Singh's eyebrows lift. "That seems rather extraordinary."

" _It's a long story._ "

Singh nods. "Then why don't we have a seat and talk about it?" he suggests. Without waiting for a response, he leads the way back into the main floor. Drawn on a string, Barry follows. Singh's office is modest, but it has a heavy wooden door that closes, which is all Barry asks of it. Singh sinks into a chair behind the desk and Barry mimics him on the opposite side, feeling the tender ache in his legs as soon as his weight is taken off them. Even Speed Force runs out of steam – or maybe that's just him, pushing the upper limits of his own flesh, and Speed Force cannot take anything else from him.

Either way, the mixture of relief and pain must show on his face. Singh opens a drawer and retrieves a bottle of ibuprofen, sliding it across the desk to him. Barry doesn't have the heart to say it won't work on him, obediently shaking out a couple pills and downing them. There's a starburst of relief, like a tense joint being cracked, before the same wallowing fatigue slips back over him.

Even the momentary interruption to the unacknowledged, chronic discomfort has a stupendous effect on him. He slouches in the seat, struggling to keep his eyes open. Singh's speech, familiar and pitched low, lures him deeper into sleep territory. He resists the urge to draw his knees up to his chest and focuses on what Singh is saying.

"… wouldn't you say so, Allen?"

"Mm?" It's so reflexive that it takes a moment to process, and then he stiffens because Singh _knows_.

Singh nods to himself. "There are no cameras in here," he reminds Barry.

The invitation prompts Barry to reach up and peel off the cowl. Even though the mask doesn't restrict his breathing, he exhales deeply once it's gone. "How'd you find out?" he asks, reaching up to rub the bridge of his nose.

"I've been an officer for almost twenty years," Singh reminds. "Comes with the territory. And you've always been a terrible liar."

"You never fired me." Barry drops his hand commands his mind to stay focused. "Why?"

"You're the best CSI I've ever had," Singh says simply. "It balances out."

Barry blinks slowly, digesting that.

"You're also dangerously overworked," Singh continues, voice acquiring a gravity Barry has come to associate with _there's been a terrible crime._ Even dealing with the lingo of death every day, some cases still trigger a visceral repulsion. Singh's voice carries caution. "I don't want you to collapse in the middle of the streets."

 _I won't_ , Barry wants to say, but he can't do so without admitting that he's already come dangerously close. Without Cisco and Caitlin telling him to slow down, or Dr. Wells' ubiquitous _I do caution restraint_ , he has nothing to keep him on any sort of schedule. Reeling from Eddie's death, neither Joe nor Iris have attempted to hold him back, either.

For the first time, he wishes someone would say _stop_. Maybe that's why his eyelids slide shut for a moment too long in Singh's office.

When he comes to, his head hurts, mouth and throat dry and sore. He groans, reaching up to rub his uncovered face. When his glove makes contact, he flinches, realizing he's _unmasked_ , not off-the-clock. Opening his eyes, he fixes his attention on a blurry Captain Singh.

"I'd force you to take time off from work," Singh says, as though uninterrupted, "if I thought it would help. But at least while you're here, I can respond if something happens." He shakes out a couple more ibuprofen and slides them across the desk. Barry glances at the clock on the wall, surprised to see a four instead of a three, popping the pills into his mouth unthinkingly. Again that starburst of sweet relief, and again the growing discomfort as it vanishes.

"You've put out fires," Singh lists, "restarted generators at hospitals, reconstructed buildings, assisted in dozens of petty crime arrests, and reduced our casualty count by several thousand. You've done a lot. And that's just in the past four weeks."

"It's what I do," Barry says, husky with sleep, wishing he could Flash out of sight. "I'm The Flash."

"You said you caused the singularity," Singh reminds, not letting it go. "How?"

Barry exhales slowly. "I tried to change my past," he explains, "without fully understanding what could happen to my present. I knew that if I succeeded, my life would change in ways I couldn't imagine. But I hadn't thought about what would happen if I _failed_ – if I came home without changing the past."

"The singularity … was a consequence of that?"

"Yeah. We thought we were safe, but our margin of error was slimmer than we thought. And so, when I … 'came back' … a singularity formed."

Singh steeples his hands. Barry fidgets in the silence.

"So you … didn't change the past?"

Barry shakes his head.

"But you knew this could happen?"

A nod.

"Hm." Singh leans back in his chair. "I'd say you should have taken better precautions as a scientist," he elaborates, "but from my understanding there's no textbook on time travel. Is there?"

Barry shakes his head again. "No," he yawns, struggling to bottle up his fatigue. Keep-it-together-Allen.

Singh stands. Barry can't find the strength to mirror him. "Whatever the intent, a crime is a crime. Even if it's an accident, or a mistake," Singh reminds him. Barry braces himself for the denunciation he knows is coming. Singh comes around the desk, leaning back against it and looking at Barry. "Officers make the wrong choices," he says, "sometimes fatal ones. You know this. You may also be aware of the disciplinary process involved, the trials and decisions that are made. Restitution keeps the justice system just."

Barry bows his head. He can almost hear it: _Turn in your gun and badge._

He has neither to offer, just a lab that isn't his and a reputation for being late.

Singh clears his throat and Barry looks up. "I believe, Mr. Allen, you have more than paid for your crimes. And I think it is time you stop paying for them."

"I'm not gonna stop helping people," Barry husks.

"I wouldn't ask you to," Singh replies. "I would, however, ask that you do so in a way that doesn't kill you. How many people do you think you can rescue when you're dead?"

Barry keeps his mouth shut. Singh nods.

"Take a break," he insists, pushing back from the desk and holding out a hand to help Barry up from his seat. He doesn't need it, but he takes it anyway, and Singh is a lot stronger than he looks, hauling him up effortlessly. "I need my officers in good shape. I don't want to lose any to self-inflicted wounds." He keeps a steadying hand on Barry's shoulder until he's sure Barry can stand on his own, releasing him and giving him a nudge towards the door.

Barry reaches up and tugs the cowl laboriously over his head. " _I can't make any promises_ ," he says, reflexively switching back to Flash-speak.

"Make one," Singh counter-offers, holding open the door. "Save yourself, too."

Barry's chest aches, like he's getting a bad cold, or trying not to cry. He ducks his head in lieu of a verbal response, and Singh holds out a hand to shake. "Be careful out there, Flash."

Barry clasps it, and even through the tripolymer he's struck by how familiar the grip is, albeit in such a different context. He's used to being Allen-the-lab-rat, not Flash-the-superhero, and being addressed in such a capacity throws him. " _Always am_ ," he replies.

He vanishes when Singh lets go.

. o .

An hour after sunrise, Joe taps on Barry's door, surprising himself when he sees a familiar form sprawled across it, buried under blankets with a foot hanging out. It's the first time since the singularity when he's seen Barry asleep, even though he knows he must at some point ( _right?_ ). Leaving him be, Joe heads downstairs to make pancakes, hoping that maybe – just maybe – things are finally starting to move back towards normal.


End file.
